Knotted
by The Iliaddict
Summary: An inside look on what happened during 39 Clues: The Maze of Bones, through the thoughts of new and familiar characters! Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own the 39 Clues. -ON HIATUS-
1. Chapter 1 The Less Holt, the Better

**(Author's Note: I had alot of fun writing this, hope you like it! ;D)**

Chapter 1

The Less Holt, the Better

Amy Cahill tried to focus on tying a sailor's knot on her practice rope. Amy was usually able to concentrate on her overnight camp's hands-on activities, but sometimes that is hard when you've got a very attractive boy working next to you, trying to catch your eye. Using her peripheral line of vision, Amy could see he was wearing a confused expression as he tried to rearrange his rope into some knot. Every so often, he would give her an exasperated look, a silent plead for assistance. Amy ignored him. Finally, he seemed to realize that Amy was paying more attention to her intricate knot, than him.

"Amy," he began, "could you help me with this knot here?" he gestured to his bundle of ropes.

"I think you are very good at tying knots," he added as an afterthought.

"A-and do y-y-you know what _I_ th-think, Ian? I th-think y-y-you sh-should listen to th-the instructor m-m-more often," Amy snapped, unable to contain her stuttering. Ian frowned, but quickly regained his usual brimming self confidence.

"Feisty today, are we?" he smirked. Amy smiled a bit, but didn't meet Ian's eyes. Ian's grin spread wide, he liked to make Amy smile. Amy's smile matured into a smirk of her own as a strong hand clamped unto Ian's shoulder.

"Cobra bothering you, Amy?" a gruff voice snarled. Amy gave the newcomer a look that clearly said, "You have no idea." The large hand tightened on Ian's shoulder as it shoved Ian into the dirt.

"He hardly deserved that," Amy pointed out. Her friend shrugged. Ian jumped off the ground and brushed himself off.

"It's Kabra, actually," Ian muttered. "But I guess it's hard to get things right when you're a Dolt," Ian grinned mischievously, showing off a perfect set of white teeth. Amy's friend was just lifting Ian off the ground by his shirt's collar when an instructor came along.

"Hamilton Holt put Mr. Kabra down immediately!" Mrs. Chopra shrieked. Hamilton let his grip on Ian slack and Ian fell, once again, to the forest floor. This time Ian didn't get up right away. He put on a pained expression and groaned exaggeratedly. Mrs. Chopra grabbed Hamilton by the ear and led him away from Ian and Amy.

"It's off to the warden with you, sonny," Mrs. Chopra snarled. Hamilton winced. Even for a woman in her mid sixties, Mrs. Chopra had an ironclad grip.

"Amy, dear, call the nurse for Mr. Kabra," Mrs. Chopra called over her shoulder as she led Hamilton around a bend. Amy did no such thing. As soon as her best friend and Mrs. Chopra were out of sight, she burst into tears. Ian's head snapped up. He quickly stopped faking a fatal hit to the ground and pulled himself together. Ian crawled over to Amy on all fours and put an arm around her.

"What's wrong, Amy?" Ian asked her. Amy shrugged his arm off her shoulder and continued to bawl. A few other guys from the knot-tying group chuckled. Amy never situated herself with boys besides Hamilton, but they were just friends. Most boys liked Amy at camp, despite her average looks. Amy Cahill had shoulder length reddish brown hair and intelligent jade green eyes. Ian gave the chuckling boys a glare that made them shut up. Finally, Amy was able to form words, through her tears and stuttering.

"Ham's dad says if Ham gets into any more trouble, he'll withdraw him from camp," Amy managed. Ian was confused. Wasn't Hamilton leaving a good thing?

"It's alright Amy, you can sit with me at lunch today," he ventured.

"No, it is _not_ alright, Ian!" Amy croaked. "Hamilton lives here, I live in Boston, and we'll be so far apart. And _no_ I will not sit with you at lunch!" Amy stormed away from Ian. Ian looked longingly after her. Ian liked Amy more than he'd like to admit, not that he'd admit it. A gaggle of girls soon enveloped him. Lisa Phipps, a girl who seemed to be the leader of the group, stepped forward.

"We'd like to sit with you at lunch, Ian," she purred. Ian frowned.

"No thanks," he grumbled and raced after Amy. He followed her through the trees, quickly jumping behind different trees as he advanced. He was about to call out Amy's name as he entered a clearing but then he saw her, and she wasn't alone. There she stood, crying on Hamilton's shoulder. Hamilton gently stroked her reddish brown hair. Hamilton noticed Ian standing there in the shadows looking dumbfounded and winked. Ian stomped off.

_Stupid Dolt._ He thought furiously. _Stupid shark hair. _Ian glanced back at Hamilton and Amy. Hamilton's hair was all gelled up into a spiky line down his forehead, making him look like a shark.

_Stupid Amy._ Ian fumed but quickly took that thought back. It bothered him so much that Amy spent all her time with Hamilton and only was with Ian if she had to be. Ian had even asked her if she'd sit with him at lunch. And she declined! All the other girls at camp would die to be in Amy's position and Amy didn't think twice about it. Even at age eleven, Ian Kabra was furiously jealous and contorted with rage. Ian tensed when he heard footsteps behind him. He whirled around, startling a bleary-eyed Amy. Her jade green eyes were huge with fright.

"Amy? What are you doing here?" Ian hissed. Amy was hurt by his words.

"If y-you w-want me to g-g-go, I w-will," she whispered.

"No, don't. I'm … sorry, about your friend, Amy," Ian amended.

"It's alright." Amy's voice continued to stay barely audible.

"Is it?" Ian inquired.

"No," she admitted. "Ham w-will b-be leaving t-t-tomorrow," Amy informed him.

"Oh," was all that Ian said. Amy took a big breath.

"I'll b-be leaving, t-t-too," she whispered. Ian's eyes widened.

"No!" he urged. Amy was silent.

"Why?" Ian and Amy asked simultaneously. Ian frowned.

"Why are you leaving?" he asked.

"Why do you care so much?" she challenged.

"Just … curious," he replied.

"It d-doesn't m-m-matter," Amy sighed. She trudged back to her cabin.

"Wait," Ian ran and caught up to her easily. Amy's eyebrows pulled together.

"Don't forget me," Ian pleaded. Amy didn't get a chance to process Ian's words. Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small drawstring bag. From it, he pulled out a small dart gun. Amy's eyes widened.

"Y-you w-w-wouldn't," she croaked. Ian pulled the trigger, the weapon pointed at Amy's forehead.

Amy's eyes slid out of focus for a second, and then she quickly reopened them with a bewildered expression on her face.

"Hello," she said, "My name is Amy Cahill, who are you?" Amy asked.

"Dominic Evans," Ian blurted randomly.

"Well Dominic," Amy said, glancing at her watch, "I must be going, my brother Daniel is waiting for me."

Amy walked off to her cabin. Amy saw Hamilton run up to Amy from afar. She looked strangely at him and walked away looking clearly shaken. Ian grinned. The less Holt in Amy's life the better.

**(Author's Note: Thanks for reading, please review!)**


	2. Chapter 2 Favors

**(Author's Note: I hope this chapter helps clear up the confusing bits from my last chapter. I loved all your reviews and hope you all come back to submit more! Disclaimor: Sadly, I do not own the 39 Clues.)**

Chapter 2

Favors

Hamilton cautiously knocked on the cabin door of the second-to-last person he would ask for advice. A short boy with dark blonde hair answered the door.

"Hamilton?" he asked, confused.

"Ham, actually." Hamilton replied uneasily. "I need to talk," he continued and stepped towards the threshold. Dan didn't move to let him in. Hamilton gave him an anguished expression.

"Please, Dan, it's about Amy," Hamilton whispered, looking over his shoulder. Luckily for Ian, who had been spying in the bushes, Hamilton didn't see him. Ian sighed in relief.

A bit reluctantly, Dan stepped out of the way for Hamilton to enter the cabin. Ian made to take his chance. He pointed his dart gun at the back of Hamilton's head and pulled the trigger. Unfortunately, just as Ian pulled the trigger, Hamilton moved out of the way. The dart didn't even hit Dan. Ian cursed.

"Your aim is pathetic," a voice said from behind Ian. Ian rolled his dark eyes.

"Well, excuse me for not taking a class in perfecting erasing memories," he retorted.

"Mother called, she wants to know why you even bothered coming to this camp." Ian was informed.

"Natalie, please, if I've learned anything from being a Lucian is that you never tell anyone your plans!" Ian hissed to his sister. Natalie scoffed.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Ian whispered. "You're supposed to be in London." Natalie ignored him, so Ian turned to face the cabin.

"Nice work, Natalie, they've closed the door!" Ian hissed. Natalie shrugged and pulled her own silver dart gun from her designer purse.

"No, matter, I'll deal with the Cahill boy," Natalie stepped out of the bushes and walked purposefully towards the cabin.

"Natalie!" Ian snarled, but Natalie was already listening to the conversation going on in the cabin. She had pulled out her cell phone from her purse and began to record the conversation. Natalie walked over to one of the cabin's windows to get a clearer sound. She also peeked through the window.

"Amy doesn't know who I am," Hamilton was saying. "She looks at me as if I'm some kind of parasite! She doesn't like to talk to me. If she has to at all, she calls me Hamilton. Not Ham, like she used to. She's making me feel like I'm invisible!" Hamilton was stressing. He grabbed at his chest as if to check if he was all there. Natalie could hear him groan.

"She doesn't seem any weirder than usual," Dan replied.

Natalie placed her cell phone on the windowsill and walked to the door. She pulled out her pocket mirror and looked herself over quickly. She sighed.

_This will have to do._ She thought miserably.

Ian watched as his sister rapped her knuckles on the door of the cabin. Natalie pulled out her silver dart gun as Dan answered the door.

"Can I help you?" Dan frowned.

"Yes: try not to hit your head too hard," Natalie purred. She shot Dan square in the forehead. He groaned and fell.

"Dan!" Hamilton rushed to the door. Natalie gave Hamilton a quick shot and ran to retrieve her cell phone. Hamilton fell face forward on the floor. Ian almost laughed. Natalie sped over to Ian.

"Come, I have a boat," she puffed as she continued to jog by Ian. Ian followed her. Natalie handed him her dart gun when they reached the beach so she could start the boat. Ian examined the darts in his sister's gun.

"These aren't the same as the darts I used," he told her.

"So?" she shrugged.

"So… how much have they forgotten?" Ian asked.

"They'll just forget this summer. I assume that's what you did with the Cahill girl," Natalie explained, revving up the engine. Ian nodded, but his eyes were still asking questions.

"Fine, they might be forgetting a bit more than just the summer," Natalie internally groaned for giving into Ian.

"Such as?" he prompted.

"I don't know!" Natalie exasperated. "Why is it so important to you?" Ian frowned but then shrugged. He didn't really care about Hamilton Dolt or Daniel Cahill.

"'Whatever' as the Americans say. But still, where did you get the darts?"

"Puh-lease," Natalie drawled, making the word sound like it had two syllables, "It's in the family business." Ian stepped onto the spacious motorboat.

"Of course it is," Ian muttered as they sailed away from the camp's shoreline.

Twenty minutes later, Natalie had managed to pry the truth out of Ian as to why he had even bothered coming to the camp.

"So Father knew, but Mother didn't?" Natalie asked him.

"Pretty much, yeah," Ian replied, sort of annoyed. He had already explained this to Natalie.

"So what you're saying to me is that you came down all the way from London, just to find out more about the Holts and Cahills?" Natalie summarized.

"Yes," Ian answered briskly.

"And this you could not tell Mother, but you could tell Father?" Natalie questioned.

"It was _Father's_ plan, genius. We couldn't tell Mum, she'd want you in on it, too, and face it: You wouldn't be able to handle four weeks without a shopping trip," Ian explained. Natalie thought this over and smiled.

"So technically, you owe me thanks," Ian pointed out. Natalie shrugged.

"New dart gun?" She offered.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Ian declined. He had had enough dart guns to last him for awhile.

"New grappling hook?" Natalie suggested. Ian's ears perked up. He had always found grappling hooks quite entertaining.

"Depends… how new?" he cracked his knuckles. _New, as in, what attachments? _Ian thought and gave his sister a meaningful look. Natalie understood.

"Complete with the latest in spyware," Natalie supplied. Ian waited for more.

"I think grappling hooks can come attached to jet packs nowadays. You know Mother and Father won't settle for anything other than the best from the Lucian labs," Natalie elaborated.

"Whatever you get, make it good," Ian laced his fingers and put them behind his head. Natalie smiled somewhat menacingly.

And that's how it was with the Kabra siblings. A favor for a gift. Due to their extreme wealth, many favors were passed between Ian and Natalie Kabra. Many favors asked, many secrets kept. But not even to Natalie, would Ian tell about his feelings for Amy. He prayed and prayed they would go away. Fortunately for Ian, they did. But soon they would come crawling back.

**(Author's Note: Thanks for reading, please review!)**


	3. Chapter 3 King of Dweebs

Chapter 3

King of Dweebs

Amy Cahill pulled out her keychain as she and her eleven-year-old brother jogged up the stairs to their Aunt Beatrice's small apartment. Once Amy had unlocked the door, Dan raced off to his bedroom. Amy sighed as she slumped her way into the dining room.

Amy pulled her bulging folder out and tried to work on her homework. Amy stuffed her homework in her backpack after a few minutes of trying to solve her math homework. Amy flopped down on the couch in the squashed living room. The couch was small enough without a big mess of blankets taking over a majority of the couch. Amy's stomach growled as Dan's shout answered her thoughts.

"Ame, Food!" he yelled from down the hall. Amy reluctantly pushed herself off the couch and stepped into the kitchen to check the refrigerator's inventory. She pulled at the fridge's heavy door and peeked inside. Amy took in the contents.

_Mayonnaise and ketchup sandwiches complete with the heels of stale bread. _Amy thought bitterly. She closed the fridge door and opened the door of the freezer and peered in.

_And for dessert, frozen bananas._ Amy slammed the freezer door in frustration. Those bananas would have been perfect if they were room temperature. Amy cursed the au pair, Nellie, for freezing those bananas to make smoothies.

Amy furiously snatched up the wall phone and punched in Nellie's phone number. Amy could hear the Mario Brothers theme song going off in the living room. Amy hung up the phone and stormed into the living room. Usually, Amy never got angry with her and Dan's au pair, but things could change when you were hungry. Amy tackled the lump of blankets on the sofa.

"Argghhh!" The au pair shrieked, not happy to be awoken from her nap. Nellie Gomez emerged from the mess of blankets and pillows. Amy waited arms akimbo for Nellie to straighten herself out. Dan walked in and assessed the fridge and joined Amy in the living room.

"Hey, kiddos… why are we all ganging up on ol' Nellie?" Nellie's eyes flickered from Amy to Dan guiltily. Amy and Dan looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them.

_One…_ Dan's eyebrows wiggled.

_Two… _Amy smiled.

_Three!_ The Cahill siblings looked pointedly at each other.

"Food!" they yelled at Nellie.

"Sure, sure, I'm hungry, too," Nellie said, unable to hold back a smile at her charges' exclamation.

"What's for eating?" she asked.

"_Nothing!_" Amy tried not to yell. Dan folded his arms.

"So we're going on a food run?" Nellie guessed. Amy nodded. Amy and Dan turned to face each other.

"Position?" he asked, saluting her. Amy rolled her eyes.

"The King of Dweebs will be staying home," Amy told him.

"Great, so what do I do?" Dan asked earnestly. Amy and Nellie exchanged a look. A look of annoyance.

"Mr. Daniel Cahill will be staying home. _We_ will take care of shopping. Now, run along and don't burn down the house. Capiche?" Amy talked slowly, so Dan would understand. Dan harrumphed.

"Thinks she's in charge just 'cause she's fourteen," Dan muttered under his breath as he walked to his room.

"I've got my keys, kiddo, let's rock n' roll," Nellie grinned, adjusting her nose ring.

One trip to the local grocery store later, Amy and Nellie had enough food to feed a family of six, rather than three. When they walked into the apartment, they found it unusually quiet, and, to their surprise, not burnt down. Nellie smiled approvingly and marched into the kitchen to start making dinner while Amy made her way to her bedroom.

When Amy entered the cramped room, she headed straight for the small closet.

_Might as well make some headway in cleaning up._ Amy thought as she lugged one of the plastic bins from her closet unto her bed. Aunt Beatrice had been disgusted at the sight of Dan's closet and Amy was not one to try to aggravate Aunt Beatrice. Amy's closet was tidy enough, but she decided to work on organizing her plastic bins of odds and ends just to be safe.

Amy opened up the bin on her bed and glanced inside. Amy began to riffle through the contents, keepsakes from her fifth grade year. A majority of the bin was filled with rewards and recognitions from school. The rest of the bin's contents included shells Amy had found with her grandmother Grace, several complex knotted ropes, and few envelopes filled to nearly bursting with photographs.

Amy opened one of the envelopes and found pictures from her overnight camp. Amy frowned; the first four pictures were all of her. Amy had tried to avoid her picture being taken at an early age, far before fifth grade. Amy's frown deepened with each picture of herself. As she neared the bottom of the stack of photographs, she found that most the pictures were cut out so only Amy was in the picture. All of her surroundings were cut out, and Amy was furious. In one picture, Amy could see that she had had her arm around someone, but that person was nowhere to be seen.

_Dan._ Amy figured.

"Daniel Cahill, get your butt in here!" Amy shrieked.

"Yes?" Dan replied, much closer than Amy had thought. Amy stumbled off her bed and opened her bedroom door. Dan stood there, bleary-eyed.

"Dan, what's wrong?" Amy put an arm around her little brother.

"Grace," Dan whispered. Amy's eyes opened wide.

"What's wrong? Is she okay? Do we need to go see her? Here, let me get my coat, I'll see if Nellie can take us to her," Amy headed for her closet. Dan grabbed her arm.

"No," he said, "We can't see her, not that way," Dan looked up at his sister. His own green eyes watering.

"W-what do you m-mean?" Amy whispered, Dan's scared eyes were making her stutter. Amy only stuttered when she was embarrassed, confused, or scared. Dan's behavior was making her both confused and scared.

"Ame, " Dan sucked in a deep breath, "Grace is dead."


	4. Chapter 4 Tight Suits and Tin Flowers

**(Author's Note: Hope you guys like this chapter! Sorry I didn't update sooner; I went on vacation. Disclaimor: I do not own the 39 Clues. Sigh.)**

Chapter 4

Tight Suits and Tin Flowers

Amy pulled a comb roughly through her wet hair. Not even a warm shower could improve her mood. Amy soon gave up on messing with her hair and made her way to her bedroom. When Amy opened the door, she found her closet being raided by Nellie. Amy cleared her throat. Nellie turned to look at Amy, her face mingled with pity and exasperation. Amy stood there in the doorway in her towel, her face damp from both crying and the shower. Nellie scurried over to Amy with a warm hug, despite her wetness.

"How're you holding up, kiddo?" Nellie put her arms around Amy's shoulders and squeezed.

"Mmm," was all Amy said.

"Great. Let's get you dressed," Nellie disappeared into Amy's closet. She emerged a moment later with a small black dress. Amy blushed.

"W-where'd you get that?" she croaked. Nellie sighed apologetically, remembering. Amy had bought that dress for a party she thought she had been invited to. Amy had showed up at the scheduled place, the local bowling alley, all dolled up, only to find a bunch of beer-bellied men bowling spares.

"Come on, Amy. You spent all of your babysitting money on it. You'll never get another chance to wear it," Nellie pleaded. Amy groaned, but gave in. Nellie was being more compassionate than usual and Amy didn't want to ruin that for Dan. At least, that's what she told her self repeatedly. Nellie squealed in delight.

"You get dressed and I'll fix that hair of yours when you're done," Nellie walked out of Amy's room and closed the door behind her. Amy groaned again. She didn't like the sound of Nellie 'fixing' her hair.

Six minutes later, Nellie rapped impatiently on Amy's bedroom door.

"Yes?" Amy asked as she adjusted her dress straps.

"Done? Good," and with that, Nellie barged right in.

"Nellie, I might not have been ready!" Amy furiously tried to cover herself up. Nellie sighed in approval of Amy's dress.

"Amy, doll, you look gorgeous," Nellie smiled and fiddled with her snake nose-ring. Amy rolled her eyes. Dan's head suddenly popped in the doorway.

"'Doll'?" he inquired, "Who even says that anymore?"

Nellie glared at him. "I just did," she replied as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Dan shrugged and entered the room.

"Whoa, Dan," Amy was shocked. Dan was wearing a suit.

"Nice suit, kiddo," Nellie ruffled Dan's dark blonde hair. He shrugged again and winced. Shrugging in a tight suit… not the brightest thing to do. Amy laughed, but then cried out in surprise.

"Nellie, how tight is this thing?" Amy gasped, gesturing to the knot on the back of her dress Nellie had tied.

Dan grinned; at least Amy was in as much pain as he was in.

"You go into the kitchen while I deal with this," Nellie pointed her thumb back at Amy while she ushered Dan out the door. Dan saw Amy wince at Nellie's words. He heard Nellie give his sister some orders as she walked down the hall towards the kitchen.

Dan plopped down on a stool in the kitchen and began daydreaming about what an awesome ninja warrior he would be someday. He imagined himself felling a tree with a flick of a single finger. He would live in the high mountains and surprise his enemies by jumping out of the thick fog. He would have a servant to do whatever he wished. He would have a chef to cook whatever he wished. He might hire Nellie as chef; she was a good au pair. And he would show Anna Phelcon he wasn't an annoying little brat. And, and-ding dong.

_Ding dong?_ Was that some sort of bell he would use to call his servant? But no, it was the doorbell. Dan heard rapid knocking at the door.

He sighed and stomped to the front door. He opened it and groaned when he saw who it was.

"Amy, I-," the visitor began and noticed it wasn't Amy answering the door. "Oh, hey Dan," the visitor adjusted his bifocals.

"Chuck, Amy's busy. She can't take any flowers now," Dan folded his arms and heard his suit split.

_Oops._

"Oh, oh, alright. Well, can you give these to her anyway?" Chuck wiped his sweaty brow. He held up some metal-looking flowers.

"No," Dan replied sternly.

"You know Dan, that really is a nice suit-," Chuck began. Dan closed the door on him mid-sentence. He called down the hall to Amy.

"Amy, hurry up, will ya?" Dan heard more rapid knocking and ringing. Dan sat down hard on the kitchen stool and chose to ignore Chuck.

"Dan! Don't you know to answer the door like a normal human being?" Amy yelled at her brother. Amy was infuriated to see that he was just sitting on a kitchen stool completely ignoring the person at the door. Amy pulled the front door open and wished she hadn't. There, of all people, stood Chuck Williams with a fistful of metallic flowers in one hand, his baseball cap in the other. Chuck was a year younger than Amy, but that didn't stop him from asking her to the movies almost every day for the past two years. And Amy thought that Dan was obsessed with his collections.

_Tin flowers? What was he _thinking_? _Amy struggled to keep her thoughts in her head. Dan chuckled behind Amy at the expression on her face.

"Yes, Chuck?" Amy said acidly. Chuck didn't say anything. He was too busy taking in Amy's appearance. Nellie had piled Amy's reddish brown hair upon her head. Amy coughed; her perfume was very strong.

"Going dancing?" Chuck asked blankly.

"I'm going to a funeral," she snapped.

"Oh," was all he said. Amy tried to close the door, but Chuck's foot was in the way.

"Chuck-," Amy started, but was interrupted.

"Will you go to the movies on Friday with me?" Chuck looked hopefully at Amy.

"Uhh, I'm busy then. Bye!" Amy watched Chuck's face fall as it did every time she declined him. Amy nudged Chuck's foot out of the way and slammed the door.

"Daniel Cahill, I know you were putting me on the spot!" Amy shrieked. Her brother had tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks. Amy was close to strangling him when yet another disturbance at the door stopped her. Six tin flowers made their way through the mail slot and unto the floor. Dan howled and began to shake with laughter.

"How can you laugh like that?" Amy asked incredulously. "Grace is gone and we'll be forced to deal with Aunt Beatrice without her help and what if Aunt Beatrice fires Nellie then we won't find a good au pair and I don't know what I'll do," Amy's voice increased in hysteria with every word. She collapsed on the cold linoleum floor and was overcome by tears. Dan stopped snorting at once and sat down cross-legged in front of his older sister. Dan was surprised, and scared. Amy never broke down like this. She hardly cried at all. He didn't know what to do either, so he just sat there on the floor looking uncertain. Over two thousand miles away, someone was crying just as hard.

**(Author's Note: Hope you guys liked the new character, Chuck! I think I made Nellie seem a bit too sweet to Dan and Amy, but hey, their grandmother just died. Give some compassion, people! Please rate and review! I love you all! 3 -Woman in Black)**


	5. Chapter 5 Mandatory Funeral

**(Sorry guys, this is really short; but I plan to update soon. Bare with me now!)**

Chapter 5

Mandatory Funeral

"But I don't want to go to America!" Natalie Kabra bawled. Her tears stained her designer dress.

"Contain yourself, Natalie," her brother hissed.

"But Ian, do you even know what it's like there? Everywhere you turn your head, discounts, bargains, _clearance sales!_" Natalie wailed. She gripped Ian's arm for support.

"Do you really think that if we go to a funeral, it automatically means a shopping trip afterwards?" Ian scathed.

"I was hoping," Natalie replied, wiping her eyes on a monogrammed handkerchief.

"We will go as Mum and Dad said to. Kabras never fail," her brother reminded her.

"Well put," she approved," Come, let's get our outfits." Natalie was grinning now. Her teeth glinted in the dim light.

"I'll call the helicopter," Ian stood and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He quickly entered his four-digit password, I-A-N-K, and gazed out of the dark window over the busy streets of England.

Hamilton Holt raised an eyebrow at the purple running suit his sister Reagan tossed to him.

"Special occasion," she explained as her twin Madison walked into the room wearing a purple running suit of her own. Hamilton laughed at Madison's rat's nest hair.

"Who died?" he joked.

"Grace Cahill," Reagan and Madison answered in unison. Hamilton frowned.

"You two serious?" he asked.

"Dead serious," Reagan replied. Madison laughed. "Good one!" she snorted. Madison raised her palm for a high-five. Reagan sighed, and slapped Madison's hand without expression.

"Why're we going, anyway? I barely remember the old woman," Hamilton frowned.

"Dad says it's important. Really important. Hope we can bully that Cahill kid," Madison tried unsuccessfully to pull her hair into pigtails.

"Here, I'll do it." Reagan sighed.

"Kids! Ready to crash a funeral?" the children heard their father call.

"How do you crash a funeral you are invited to?" Reagan muttered under her breath. Hamilton smiled at her grim humor.

"We'll give you some privacy then," Reagan muttered and walked off to get dressed into her purple running suit. Madison followed her out the door.

Hamilton somberly climbed into his purple outfit and walked into the bathroom. Hamilton combed his hair up to the center of his head: his usual shark look. _Perfect._

**(Please review!)**


	6. Chapter 6 Roll Call

**(Sorry guys, another mini chapter here, but hope you like it! Please read & review! Since I've been having so many shorty chapters, I plan to write more and more chapters ;O Disclamer: I do not own the 39 Clues.)**

Chapter 6

Roll Call

"Role call!" Eisenhower Holt bellowed from the driver's seat.

"Mama Holt?" he called from his checklist.

"Right next to you, dear," Mary-Todd Holt reminded her husband sweetly. Eisenhower harrumphed and returned to his clipboard.

"Human Hammer?" Eisenhower shouted.

"Back and center!" Hamilton called from the middle of the back seats.

"Thing One?" Eisenhower called.

"Behind you!" Madison yelled just as Reagan replied," Behind and left!" The twins glared at each other.

"I'm Thing One!" Reagan put her hands on her hips.

"Na-uh, I'm Thing One!" Madison poked Reagan.

"Ow!" Reagan squealed. "Can't you remember anything? We're nicknamed by age and _I'm_ older!" Reagan threw her shoe at Madison.

"But 'M' comes before 'R', so I'm Thing One! That's how I said we were going to do this!" Madison threw both of her shoes at Reagan.

"Hey, stop it back there!" Eisenhower growled. The twins continued to squabble. Madison grabbed a handful of Reagan's hair and yanked. Reagan cried out in pain.

"Ow! My hair!" Reagan fumed.

"I said stop it, girls!" Eisenhower shouted. The girls ignored him.

"Your hair? You're such a baby, Reagan! You've gotten so soft ever since Anthony!" Madison accused.

"Enough!" Mary-Todd yelled. Madison and Reagan stopped fighting and quieted down. The Holt's pit bull, Arnold, lowered his ears and whimpered. Eisenhower broke the silence by starting the engine. He peeled out of the parking spot, smashing cars in front and behind him for good measure, and drove down the street.

Eisenhower announced every stop sign, street sign, and stoplight they passed. Hamilton sat quietly in the backseat, head in hand, and let his eyes roll up to the ceiling of the van. This was going to be a long drive.


	7. Chapter 7 Hidden Headset

**(Author's Note: Hullo, all, I apologize for the long time gap between updates. Please read and review! Also, I will have a question at the bottom of the page I'd like everyone who reviews to answer in their review. More of a vote, really. Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues.. do you? If so, please PM about legal copyright exchanges :B)**

Chapter 7

Hidden Headset

"Not bad, but we've seen better. We've _owned_ better." Sinead Starling drawled as she and her brothers stepped out of their limousine. Ned and Ted chuckled darkly as the trio marched towards the late Grace Cahill's mansion.

"The Starling triplets have arrived," a deep voice spoke into a headset. The man talking into the headset was well hidden, high in a tree near the mansion's entrance. His completely black attire aided him in his "invisible" effect.

"Has anyone seen you?" a voice came from the headset.

"No," the black-clad man replied.

"Let's keep it that way," the voice tested. The man in the tree scowled and disconnected. Through his binoculars, he could see Grace Cahill's lawyer, William McIntyre, lead Grace's grandchildren toward the procession in the back of the mansion. The girl kept her head down while her brother's head whirled at the slightest of sounds. And there was old Beatrice Cahill, as batty as ever. Old witch. The hidden man scolded himself. His mother had told him never to degrade a family member.

The man turned to look again at the driveway of the mansion. He flicked on his headset again.

"The Wizards are here," he whispered into it.

"Ah, young Mr. Wizard, the famous son of Mrs. Cora Wizard, are we? How is dear Cora?" the old lawyer greeted the young superstar.

"Well if ya wanna get all fancy about it. Please, bro, just call me Jonah," the superstar replied. The crowd of girls clustered around him sighed loudly in admiration. "Oh, and Mom is good, I guess," he added.

"Of course… dude…?" Mr. McIntyre tried again at addressing Jonah. Jonah shook his head disapprovingly at the old man's meager attempt, but offered a fist to show that they were still "tight". Mr. McIntyre awkwardly gripped Jonah's fist and shook it, as if it was a handshake.

"Meet you at the smash later, 'ight?" Jonah gently removed his hand from Mr. McIntyre's grip.

_Old man's got a tight grip._ Jonah thought to himself absently, shoving his hand in his deep pocket.

Mr. McIntyre just nodded, not understanding at all what Jonah had just said. Jonah's father remained silent, except for the continuous clacking of his fingers on his BlackBerry. Mr. McIntyre ushered the Wizards into the yard so he could greet more funeral guests.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Adela, Monsieur Tristan, welcome!" Jonah heard Mr. McIntyre say as he and his father scanned the yard for a good place to start the autographing. Jonah's father found a shady spot near the forest and handed his son a couple hundred photographs of Jonah from various concerts. Mr. Wizard did this all very quickly, while simultaneously texting a mile a minute.

One of Jonah's bodyguards somehow came forth with a table and chair so Jonah could start signing. A small crowd, most consisting of teenage girls, soon gathered around Jonah's table.

"Yo, yo, yo, ladies, guys, a line, please?" Jonah called out, his voice in superstar mode.

"Is someone selling Prada bags?" a caramel-skinned girl with a British accent pushed through the crowd. The girl might have been beautiful, but she seemed too young. The pretty, yet non-beautiful, girl's smirk broadened when she saw who was at the center of attention now.

"Peeps, gots some family biz to attend to, yo. Be back in a sec," Jonah addressed his fans. To Jonah's embarrassment, and discomfort, the girls of the crowd were making flirty-faces at someone other than him.

"Ian," the caramel-skinned girl called to the mob of girls," don't let the ladies bite."

Ian Kabra emerged from the cluster of teenage girls, looking slightly shaken. He regained his bravado when he saw Jonah's distaste.

"No matter, Natalie. I wasn't planning on staying long enough for that." Ian smoothed his collar importantly. Girls around him gushed at his perfect British accent. Jonah and the Kabra siblings stepped away from the autograph signing table to talk in private. Mr. Wizard raised a brow at the three, but stayed put by the threes all the while clack-clack-clacking on his BlackBerry.

Jonah dropped his professional swagger the second he was out of earshot from his fans.

"Well if it isn't the American- ah, British Girl Doll and a tanned Ken, too!" he spat. He pulled out a silver coin from his pocket and began flipping it absently. Natalie stepped forward and slapped Jonah across the face. A fake gold tooth went flying.

"That is _not_ how you treat Kabras," she snarled. Jonah rubbed his cheek and struggled to keep a poker face.

"What do you want?" he growled.

"I'd call you a git, but even that isn't quite fitting, don't you think? More like imbecile, fool," Natalie taunted. As small as she was, she was dangerous. Jonah's cheek began to sting.

_Does Natalie put poison in her nails like Irina Spasky?_ He wondered.

"What do you want?" he repeated.

"What do you know about the Clues?" both Ian and Natalie hissed.

"What clues?" Jonah asked. His poker face was going strong.

"Not 'clues', like this Where is Waldo nonsense! _Clues!_ 39 of them to be exact!" Natalie pulled out her favorite silver dart gun from her belt.

"Clues, like hints?" Jonah played dumb.

"You clueless boy!" Natalie growled. Ian snickered.

"Did you just snicker at our predicament, Ian!" Natalie turned on her brother.

"Nope, he Twix'd," Sinead Starling appeared, flanked by her brother. Ned and Ted laughed stupidly at their sister's bad pun. Sinead silenced them with a hand. Jonah instantly pulled an extra fake gold tooth from his pocket and stuck it over one of his front teeth. He folded his arms and tried to look as cool as possible. Only the Kabras knew he didn't use slang in every sentence.

"Jonah." Ted muttered in greeting.

"Natalie." Ned said coldly.

"Ian." Sinead risked a smile and a wink. She scowled when she saw he hadn't been paying attention to her. Both Sinead and Natalie followed his gaze to Amy Cahill and her brother, Daniel.

"She's not your type, Ian" Sinead said pointedly.

"She's penniless," Natalie scathed.

"She reads too much," Ned put it.

"She has mediocre education." Ted crossed his arms.

"She's hot!" whispered Jonah so only Ian could hear. Ian frowned at that.

"They don't know anything." Ian mumbled.

"What about those Tomas?" Sinead asked.

"Eisenhower, yes, Mary-Todd, possibly. The Tomas offspring were never too bright. We were told years ago by our parents." Natalie answered.

"So the Holt brats are Clueless, right down to their mutt," Ted summarized.

Natalie spoke slowly. "Sinead-worthy pun intended or not, yes the Holt children do not know anything, at least, from what we know." Sinead laughed darkly. And, of course, her brothers followed suit. She held up another hand to silence them.

"Our families are pretty much set in stone for the Hunt." Ian pointed out.

"So what other Cahills are most eligible?" Ned asked.

"The burrito guy, fo' sho. Mom says he's an Ekat," Jonah informed the group, his swagger impeccable.

"'Burrito guy'?" Natalie asked, both confused and slightly disgusted.

"Alistair Oh," Sinead supplied.

"We'll need to watch out for Spasky," Ian murmured.

"Irina, of course! How could I forget?" Natalie flipped her silky hair.

"What about the other Tomas…" Ted struggled to remember the last name," the Royers? And they're sneaky cousin?"

"Ted, we haven't seen them for years! They never even come in from Iowa for the family reunions every Christmas anymore!" Sinead replied. Ted looked away, but wasn't so sure.

"And the Cahill brats?" Ned inquired.

"Ned, put your head on straight! They are Grace's _grandchildren_! What do you think?" Sinead snapped, rapping her Ned smartly on the head.

"Oh is doin' his Ekat thing, the Holts are buffed out, Spazz is an evil mastermind, so what are Amy and Dan?" Jonah asked.

"No one knows, but that's the least of our problems." With a final sneer from Natalie, the group departed.

"Interesting. Very interesting." The man in the tree chuckled after he was done listening to one of his headset's many hidden speakers. "Hey boss, I've got some info for you," he said. He told of the conversation he had heard to the speaker.

"Nice work, Fiske. Nice work." The voice replied.

**(Author's Note: Votin' time! Okay, so in the next few chapters, Mr. McIntyre will be mentioned alot. So, would you guys prefer continous "Mr. McIntyre," or "William McIntyre," or "the old lawyer,"... etc. etc. Please write whichever you prefer and others if you come up with some! Thanks for reading; please review! -WIB)**


	8. Chapter 8 Nothing Can Contain

**(Author's Note: Small chapter here guys, sorry. But none the less, hope you like! Since this isn't the chapter with much William McIntyre in it, my question from last chapter shall go on: How would you prefer me to refer to Mr. McIntyre as? ex] William, old man, William McIntyre, Mr. McIntyre.. Willy, whatever! Please, review with your preference! Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues. Ooh! Some new characters I created will be joining us soon! *Hint Hint* They were mentioned in the last chapter...)**

Chapter 8

Nothing Can Contain the Hideousness

"Alistair!" Irina whispered to her colleague, beckoning him to join her. Alistair saw Irina using his peripheral vision and excused himself from his chat with Mr. McIntyre. Alistair strode towards Irina but was intercepted by someone with a sky blue dress that uncannily matched her frizzy hair.

"Oh, my dear Mr. Oh! How are you holding up?" crumbling bright pink lipstick flew from the speaker's lips onto Alistair's black tuxedo. He tried not to notice. He just grinned and greeted the old woman.

"Ms. Beatrice Cahill, as lovely as ever. I'm quite alright, thank you." Alistair bent his head to press his lips to Beatrice's wrinkled hand. He almost gagged; her perfume tasted awful. Beatrice giggled despite herself. She smoothed back her puffy blue hair, doing nothing to contain its hideousness.

"And how are you, Ms. Cahill?" Alistair strained himself to remain polite, as he was itching to talk to Irina.

"Charmed, Mr. Oh, charmed," Beatrice's shrill voice hurt Alistair's ears.

"How lovely. Now then, I believe your grand niece and nephew were looking for you," Alistair lied easily.

"Oh, were they? Where are they now, do you know?" Beatrice asked.

"Ah, over there, I can see young Dan is playing with the Holt twins." Alistair gestured towards Dan who was being held by the ankles by Reagan and Madison Holt.

"Oh, kids these days," Beatrice chortled.

"Good day, Ms. Cahill," Alistair cut the conversation short. He knew Irina would be impatient. He strolled over to her, swinging his bejeweled cane dandily.

"Irina, hello," Alistair greeted her.

"What took you so long?" she hissed.

"Splendid to see you, too." Alistair muttered as he leaned against his cane. Irina scowled.

"No time for games. What have you heard?" Irina leaned against a nearby tree. The leaves overhead rustled, but she did not notice very much.

"많은 William McIntyre, Grace's lawyer, told me he would be announcing something momentarily. Something about being chosen. I'm thinking he means the Hunt for the Clues," Alistair spoke in Korean nonchalantly. Irina smiled.

"Вы думаете так? Do you think so?" Irina asked in Russian.

"예 Yes." Alistair replied in Korean.

"так ли это? And you think you will be chosen?" Irina inquired in her first language.

"예 Yes, and you, too. Unfortunately, I do not think an alliance will be possible for us. Possibly, for the first Clue, but not at any other time. 아니"Alistair mumbled in his. Irina nodded again.

"I can easily reach Isabel's children, пара пустяков. Will you ally with Hope and Arthur's children?" Irina fired away in Russian. Alistair nodded solemnly.

"I think we are to shovel our share of dirt at this time," Irina spoke in English.

"Alas, let us say our final farewell to a great woman and friend," Alistair replied, no longer speaking Korean. Irina stalked off, pretending not to have spoken to Alistair at all. Alistair twirled his bejeweled cane and set off towards Grace Cahill's grave.

"More interesting news, boss. It appears as though Mr. Oh and Ms. Spasky are more acquainted than they let on," twenty feet up the tree Irina had leaned on, a black-clad man spoke into a headset.

"Interesting," the man's correspondent repeated.

**(Author's Note: Some other languages here, guys! If you'd like some translations...**

**These are all based on a translator I found on the internet. If I am incorrect, please, correct me!**

**많은= Much.**

**Вы думаете так = Is that so?**

**예 = Yes.**

**пара пустяков= Piece of cake.**

**Thank you for reading, please review!)**


	9. Chapter 9 No Pain, No Gain

**(Author's Note: Sorry for the large time gap between updates, guys! Sorry! Please read & review! Big quotes from the Maze of Bones. More than 90% of quotes belong to Mr. Rick Riordan! Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues, or Rick Riordan's words!)**

Chapter 9

No Pain, No Gain

"What did he just say?" Uncle José turned to Cousin Phyllis.

"I don't rightly know," she whispered back. Uncle José cupped his hands around his mouth and stood up from his seat.

"I thought this was about the money!" he yelled," A quest? Who does she think we are? We're Cahills, not adventurers!"

Hamilton Holt turned to Uncle José and shushed him. Uncle José closed his mouth tight; he didn't like the size of Hamilton's muscles.

About forty other Cahills bellowed in agreement of Uncle José's words.

Irina Spasky tried to inconspicuously whisper something to Alistair Oh, but it did not go unnoticed by Hamilton Holt. He also noticed Ian and Natalie Kabra look pointedly at each other.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please," Mr. McIntyre spoke. "If you will direct your attention to the screen, perhaps Madame Cahill can explain things better than I." The old lawyer indicated to a projector screen on the ceiling of the Great Hall. All Cahills went silent and had to crane their necks to view the whole projection.

The screen flickered to life to show the late Grace Cahill. She sat on her bed with her cat on her lap and she smiled at the camera expectantly.

"Fellow Cahills…" she began slowly.

"Mom, I have to go to the bathroom!" Madison whined.

"Shhh, Mad, I can't hear!" Reagan complained.

"Girls, shut up!" Hamilton hissed. He could barely hear any of the tape.

"Yeah, Reagan, shut up!" Madison whispered a bit louder than Hamilton would have liked.

"No, you shut up!" Reagan growled. Hamilton flicked them both on the back of the neck and told them to be quiet again. He tried to focus on the tape.

"…close your mouths and listen." Grace smiled.

"See," Madison whispered to Reagan," even the old dead lady wants to shut up!"

"Hey, wait a minute!" her father protested. Hamilton stifled a laugh when his mom shushed him. Hamilton turned back to the projection screen. From what he could gather, and that wasn't much, considering his sisters' constant bickering, was that Grace Cahill had devised a hunt for some stuff that could lead to some mucho power things because the whole Cahill family had mucho power and stuff. Something along the lines of that. Oh and there would be teams.

Hamilton rubbed his hands together happily; this was his kind of game. Destroying those who lie in your path to winning? That was his favorite.

"_Stubborn?" _his father yelled, outraged. "She called _us_ stubborn?"

Hamilton smirked at his father. He closed his eyes and tried to think about how great it would feel when he won as more shouts came bounding towards Mr. McIntyre. Hamilton heard the voices, but he was consumed in his own thoughts.

Alistair Oh spoke. _I'd get my own private gym… _Mr. McIntyre replied. _I'd have all the girls…_ Natalie Kabra spoke. _I could get a helicopter… _Mr. McIntyre responded. _I could move away from my family…_ Next, one shrill voice stood out among the rest.

"But what's this about sacrificing our inheritance?" an old woman complained. "Where's the money? It's just like my sister to come up with some foolishness!" Hamilton shook his head and looked to the voice. He shuddered. It was batty old Beatrice Cahill.

"Madam," Mr. McIntyre spoke slowly, "you may certainly decline the challenge. If you do, you will receive what is under your chair."

The second the words left Mr. McIntyre's lips, everyone in the room anxiously felt underneath their chairs. Hamilton watched in amusement as his father picked up Reagan's chair as she still sat in it. She screamed as her father ripped the taped envelope off from beneath her chair. Hamilton reached under his chair and found an envelope identical to the ones his family waved around enthusiastically.

"What you hold now is a bank voucher," Mr. McIntyre informed. "It shall be activated if and when you renounce your claim to the challenge. If you so choose, each of you may walk out of this room with one million dollars and never have to think of Grace Cahill or her last wishes again. Or… you may choose a clue-a single clue that might lead you to the most important treasure in the world and make you powerful beyond belief…"

Hamilton watched as Mr. McIntyre's eyes settled on the Cahill siblings. "…or it might kill you. One million dollars or the clue. You have five minutes to decide."

"It is time," Mr. McIntyre's old voice sounded over the room. "I must warn you that once the choice is made, there is no turning back. Not changing minds."

"Wait a moment, William," Alistair Oh stood, leaning on his sparkling cane. "This isn't fair. We know almost nothing about the challenge. How are we to judge whether or not it is worth the gamble?" Alistair sat back down, but he still held the attention of the room.

Mr. McIntyre pursed his lips at Alistair's question. "I am limited in what I can say, sir. You know that the Cahill family is very large… very old. It has many branches. Some of you, until today, did not even realize you were Cahills. But as Madame Cahill said in her video address, this family has been instrumental in shaping human civilization. Some of the most important figures in history have been Cahills."

A buzz of excitement sped through the room.

"Historical figures?" Hamilton turned to see his dad with hands cupped around his mouth to make himself heard, "Like who?"

The old lawyer cleared his throat. "Sir, you would be hard-pressed to name a major historical figure in the last few centuries who was _not_ a member of this family."

Cahills left and right began shouting out suggestions.

Mr. McIntyre calmly answered each outburst with a 'yes'. The crowd was stunned silent.

Hamilton had to strain his ears to hear the rest of what Mr. McIntyre had to say; his family just _couldn't_ keep their mouths _shut_ for _one second!_

Cahills accepted the challenge. Others, Beatrice Cahill, for instance, declined. Mr. McIntyre pronounced Natalie and Ian Kabra as Team One. Hamilton gazed up at his monstrosity of a father, knowing he wouldn't like that.

"Hey!" Eisenhower Holt objected. "Our whole family's taking the challenge! _We_ want to be Team One!"

Hamilton joined his sisters in the shouting of "We're number one!" only half-heartedly. His sisters didn't really notice. Hamilton's shouting increased when the family's pit bull, Arnold, began to jump in the air and bark. Hamilton laughed and shouted with his family.

"Very well, Mr. Holt. Your family's vouchers, please. You shall be Team… uh, you shall also be a team," Mr. McIntyre tried weakly to reach somewhat of a compromise. The Holt family's five million-dollar vouchers when up in smoke in exchange for one envelope encasing the first clue of thirty-nine. Reagan Holt bumped Amy Cahill's shoulder as she and her family made their way back to their seats.

"No pain, no gain, wimp!" she said. Hamilton laughed. Amy's cheeks burned.

The Holts waited excitedly as more Cahills gave up their millions. Alistair Oh, the Starling triplets, Irina Spasky, Jonah Wizard and his father, and lastly, the Amy and Dan Cahill, became teams.

After all Cahills were either instant millionaires or members of the Hunt, Grace's old lawyer announced," You may now open your envelopes."

The Holt family eagerly tore open their envelope, as did the other teams. The Holt clan gazed wordlessly at the confusing clue:

_RESOLUTION:  
The fine print to guess,  
Seek out Richard S_._

**(Author's Note: Thank you for reading, please review! ;D )**


	10. Chapter 10 Queue

**(Author's Note: _Extreme_ short chapter here, guys, sorry! Thank you to all who reviewed last chapter! =P Please read and review! Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues.)**

Chapter 10

Queue

"Hey! What are you doing up here?" an uncertain voice called from a couple hundred feet away. The man in black tensed; someone had sense him. He began to run across the hill as fast as his old legs would let him.

"Wait, come back!" the voice called to the man's retreating figure. A strong gloved hand soon gripped the man's shoulder. The man in black halted, recognizing the glove. The glove was off-white and patterned with a sandy pyramid leading up to a bold blue letter 'T'.

"Don't do that! You almost gave me a heart-attack!" the black-clad man exasperated.

"Sorry, but you really shouldn't be up here alone looking so sinisterly over a burning house," the girl with the glove murmured, gazing indifferently at the black smoke flowing from the deceased Grace Cahill's mansion.

"Actually, that wasn't me," the man in black muttered.

"Who, then?" the girl asked.

"I'm afraid it was some of your relatives," he repeated.

"Caller and Hayden adored this place. They wouldn't dare. Besides, we arrived after the house was already ablaze," the girl retorted.

"Not _that_ close. I'm talking about the Holts," he admitted. The girl shrugged.

"Not bad for some of the weaker Tomas," she said.

"And you classify yourself as a strong Tomas?" he dared to ask.

"Naturally," she flashed him a perfect smile.

"Well, I'd say you've grown," the man in black hinted.

"I guess. But I've been in my country, and you've been in yours. I've grown _two_ _inches_ since you saw me last," she raised a dark brow.

He guffawed. "Last time I saw you, you were at my shoulder. It's been four years. You're still about there," he chuckled.

"Shut up," she pursed her lips.

"Arya! Arya?" a new voice called from a ways away.

"I guess that's your queue," the man in black stared into the sunset blankly.

"Yeah. See you, grandfather," the girl, Arya, saluted the old man.

"Until next we meet, Anne," he replied.

Arya hissed. "It's Aryavare! You call me _that_, not Anne. I'm not your daughter," she snarled. Her grandfather looked hurt.

Aryavare ran off, not in the least apologetic.

"Coming, Call!" She yelled. She didn't look back.

**(Author's Note: Hope you liked! Oh, just in case you were wondering, Aryavare is pronounced like Are-ee-a-vare... Don't ask me; my sister made it up, I thought it was cool. Please review!)**


	11. Chapter 11 Late

**(Author's Note: Hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm sorry for the bit o' confusion last chapter about Aryavare being Fiske's granddaughter. I hope this chapter clears it up! Please read and review! Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues...sadly.)**

Chapter 11

Late

"Well if it isn't the Royers!" Mr. McIntyre croaked from his hospital bed.

"Hello, Mr. McIntyre," the older of the two who had just walked in greeted. The girl next to him nodded in agreement as she pulled some chairs up for herself and her brother. Both visitors wore black jeans and graphic t-shirts that looked like tuxedos. Only part of the shirts showed though, considering the pair wore black sweaters. They also were extremely light, in skin color, weight, and hair color. Their hair was a very light blonde, though they had both added some color with red dye. The girl's red hair was at the end of her bangs, and at the tips of her hair. The boy's hair was dyed with red streaks. The girl had a bruise-like blotch on her neck, which was shaped oddly like the letter 'C'. She didn't seem to notice Mr. McIntyre's eyes graze over the uncanny blotch.

"Well then, how nice of you to visit, Hayden," Mr. McIntyre nodded to the young adult," Caller," he smiled kindly at the girl. "I'm sorry you've arrived rather late for dear Grace's funeral, but none the less, I'm glad to see you."

"We are sorry for that. The announcement was rather short-notice and it _is_ a long drive from Iowa," Caller explained. Hayden stepped on her foot. "Wha-oh! Nice to see you, too, Mr. McIntyre," she added.

"I see," Mr. McIntyre bowed his head, "In being late, you two have missed such an event to behold." Hayden and Caller exchanged confused glances.

"You mean the fire?" Caller asked. She hated herself for talking so nonchalantly about the fire. That house had been beautiful, a pure work of art. Hayden, too, wore a pained expression on his face. Grace's home had held many model airplanes and topographical maps that had held his interest.

"No, I don't, actually," the old man twiddled his thumbs. The Royer siblings waited patiently for more.

"Caller, would you mind fetching my suit trousers from earlier today? They are on that chair over there," William McIntyre lifted a weak finger towards a white folding chair in the corner of the room. Caller obliged. She handed William his requested gray pants.

"Thank you," he inclined his head towards Caller and began to rummage through his trouser pockets. He soon came forth with a stack of Post-it Notes and a calligraphy pen.

"It woes me to tell you two that what I was meant to give you was destroyed in the burning of Madame Cahill's mansion." William explained.

"Now, I have something very important to say," he continued. Caller slouched in her chair, sensing a boring, not to mention long, story approaching.

"It's about your family. Your _whole_ family," William noted. Caller straightened as if zapped.

_Our family?_ She asked herself, wanting to make sure she had heard correctly.

"You may not know this, but-"William began.

"Do you mean Mom and Dad? Or the bigger family?" Caller interrupted. Hayden elbowed her in annoyance; he was anxious to hear what McIntyre had to say.

"Both, to some degree," William answered. "Mainly the latter, though, I assume you two know of your Cahill ancestors? This will make my job much easier," he muttered, rekindling his thumbs in their twiddling.

"Are you kidding?" Caller asked incredulously. She and Hayden both rolled up their sleeves to reveal tattoos of dragons, wolves, bears, and entwined serpents. Their unusually pale arms were almost completely covered, except for Hayden's one metallic arm. Mr. McIntyre realized that the purplish blotch on Caller's neck was yet another tattoo. It was the Cahill family crest. He looked impressed.

"Are you not partial to your own branch?" he inquired. Hayden and Caller simultaneously stuck out their tongues in response. William thought they were being ignorant before he realized black ink on their tongues. The ink easily resembled a bear poised for attack.

"Ah, Tomas, are we?" he asked.

"Yes, but we do not understand why Cahills are so evasive of each other. We are all family, after all," Hayden replied quietly.

_What an odd thing for a Tomas to say, _William pondered. Then he remembered.

"Ah, I had almost forgotten! What I confide in you two, must _stay_ with you two. Unless, of course, you would like someone to come and listen as well. But this cannot be just anyone. Firstly, someone you can trust. Secondly, someone you would be willing to have in your company nonstop. Lastly, they must be a Cahill."

Both of the Royers' thoughts drifted to their impatient cousin, who was waiting in Hayden's rundown car outside. Caller had persuaded her to stay in the car because she did not know William McIntyre as they did.

"Not a single person," Caller said. Hayden nodded in assent.

"Very well, I suppose I should get this over with. You know the Cahill family is very important," William began. He took a deep breath. The Royers leaned in. The old lawyer opened his mouth to speak when-

_BOOM!_

Mr. McIntyre winced. In the doorway stood a very irritated girl. All five feet of her. The girl looked twelve years old, at the least, to Mr. McIntyre. She wore fitting brown corduroy dress and chunky black boots. She had darkish skin and an Asian look to her eyes. On her small hands she wore off-white gloves with some triangular shape leading up to a blue spot. She stared around the room, knowing she was the center of attention.

"You weren't planning on telling me this?" she fumed, turning on Hayden and Caller.

"And you are, miss?" William prompted.

"Aryavare Anne Berkelley. Five feet, exactly. Student council prez three years and counting. Fourteen in two months, seventeen days. I'd be pleased to make your acquaintance if I wasn't so worried about accidentally massacring my _favorite_ cousins," the girl seethed.

She stood in the doorway of the hospital bedroom glaring at Hayden and Caller, twin tornadoes raging in her stormy gray eyes. Mr. McIntyre blinked, speechless. When he finally spoke, all he said was, "Do you update that daily?"

"What?" Aryavare turned her whirlwind eyes towards him.

"Your birthday countdown. Do you really keep track so vigorously?" William propped himself up on the hospital mattress.

"Yes, she does," Caller answered for Aryavare, clamping her pale hand over her cousin's mouth, "Arya can be very obsessive. Please don't encourage her," she warned. William shrugged, and continued to question Aryavare.

"I believe I've heard of you before. Have we met prior to this day?" he asked her.

"I don't think so. What would make you think that?" Aryavare answered, narrowing her eyes.

"One of my, ah, acquaintances, has mentioned someone under the name of Berkelley," he mumbled.

"Who?" The sharp-tongued Aryavare demanded.

"Fiske Cahill," William cowered awkwardly under her furious glare.

"My grandfather," Arya replied, now bored. Hayden and Caller threw each other 'what can you do?' sort of glance. The usually uncontainable talking machine they knew as their cousin, had a habit of going surprisingly quiet when her grandfather or mother was mentioned.

"Grandfather?" William frowned in confusion. "Mr. Cahill was never married and he surely did not have children."

Aryavare blew on her newly-done black nail polish. "Ever heard of adoption, Mr. McIntyre?" She asked warily.

"Oh. Then how on Earth are you of Tomas descent?" He inquired, actually quite interested to know.

"My father, old man. My mother, grandfather's adoptive daughter, married a Tomas. We clear?" Arya summarized, looking very bored.

"Oh. Erm, yes, we are clear, Ms. Berkelley," William replied quietly.

The 'old man', Aryavare, and the two Royers sat uncomfortably in silence. Finally, William could no longer take Caller's eyebrow's expectant arch.

"Are you ready for me to begin?" he asked," I doubt Ms. Berkelley will like being asked to leave very much."

Caller and Hayden had to agree, reluctantly.

"I'm afraid Madame Cahill's original words cannot be read at this time. Madame Cahill's alternate will was destroyed in the burning of her home," William explained. Caller and Hayden both took sharp intakes of breath, in memory of the wonderful mansion. Aryavare folded her arms, indifferent.

"I am inclined to tell from my memory, seeing as a copy of Madame Cahill's alternate will is not accessible to us at this time," he gestured humbly at his frail self in the hospital bed. Caller smiled. Despite the old lawyer's injuries, he was perfectly willing to carry on with his work.

"Your family, the Cahill family, that is, is very powerful. They have helped over the ages to shape human society. Much impact on civilization, you see. More so than any other family, ever. Madame Cahill devised a contest before she passed that will lead to stupendous power. If you choose to accept the challenge, the opportunity of a lifetime, I am to give you the first of thirty-nine clues that will lead to this power.

"Each of the other funeral attendees who were chosen as most likely to succeed had a choice of one million dollars or the first Clue. You do not have that choice, because of your tardiness. I am sorry for that. What will you choose?" Mr. McIntyre smiled weakly. Caller grinned, despite the seriousness of the conversation; McIntyre's smile was quite contagious.

The Royer siblings were beside themselves.

"The opportunity of a lifetime," Hayden repeated in an undertone.

_The Challenge…_ The words echoed restlessly in Caller's mind.

Aryavare grinned wickedly.

_Stupendous power? Now you're talking._ She popped her pink chewing gum thoughtfully. Hungrily.

"We're in," Caller told Grace's executor confidently.

William McIntyre smiled and scribbled on the Post-It Note pad. Without a word, he handed Caller Royer the first Clue.

**(Author's Note: Thanks for reading; please review!)**


	12. Chapter 12 Can't Be An Ekat

**(Author's Note: Yay, I updated! ;D Please read & review! Quotes from the 1st book in this chapter, which I did not make up and belong to Mr. Rick Riordan. I hope he doesn't mind me borrowing them for my story. I give all credit to him. Some spoilers for book 10, sort of. Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues.)**

Chapter 12

Can't Be An Ekat

"They're in that museum, aren't they?" Hamilton asked his father as the Holt clan jogged through the streets of Boston.

"Yep," Eisenhower Holt huffed.

"We'll get the lead, right, Dad?" Reagan asked.

"Of course. Why wouldn't we? We're Holts!" her father patted her back affectionately. Reagan winced. More like smacked her back. Madison was quite, which was unusual.

"Look, there! There's the museum!" Mary-Todd gasped as they rounded a corner.

"Race ya, Mad?" Hamilton challenged his little sister. No response.

"Mad?" Reagan wheeled around. Madison Holt was nowhere in sight.

* * *

"Take it," the dark-haired girl urged. She peered around the alley, to make sure no one was listening.

"Why?" the other put her hands on her hips.

"Do it!" the first insisted. The second girl removed one hand from her hip to receive the remote.

"What does it do?" she asked the dark-haired girl.

"What do you _think_ it does?" the teenager responded tightly.

"Well, it sure doesn't look friendly," the second girl commented.

"It's not," the dark-haired teen agreed.

"What do I do with it?" the eleven-year-old asked.

"You give to someone as a birthday present. What do you _think_ you do with it?" the teen muttered.

"Oh." the younger girl was skeptical.

"Please, from one Tomas to another. Remember, I had nothing to do with this. This was all your idea," the other pleaded.

"I don't know, Berkelley." The tween bit her lip.

"No names here!" the other girl, Aryavare, hissed. The younger girl shrugged. She held out a hand, expecting something for her services. Aryavare rolled her eyes and began rummaging in her bag. From it, she pulled out an expensive-looking pair of sneakers. The younger girl's eyes lit up. Aryavare planted the shoes unceremoniously in the other girl's hands.

"Good?" Aryavare asked.

"Very good," the other smiled.

"Thank you, Madison," Aryavare said, grinning.

"I thought you said no names, Berkelley," Madison's eyebrows pulled together.

"That I did," Aryavare smiled, displaying a set of pearly white teeth as she ran out of the alley.

* * *

"Madison?"

"Mad?"

"Maddy!"

"Thing Number One?"

"Daaad, I'm Thing Number One, remember?"

"Oh, uh, right, sweetie."

Madison Holt's family were in a state of utmost worry.

"Dad, I'm fine, what's with the yelling?" Madison appeared as if she had been there the whole time.

"Madison!" Eisenhower and Mary-Todd Holt embraced their daughter. Reagan and Hamilton were not nearly as warm.

"What's with the new sneaks?" Hamilton asked, with a resounding "Yeah," from Reagan.

"Oh, these old things?" Madison took no time in showing off her new footwear.

"Where'd you get those eyesores, hun?" her father grinned.

"I...I stole them," Madison tried to look proud.

"Good for you, sweetie!" Eisenhower clapped her on the back approvingly. Mary-Todd kissed her daughter on the forehead affectionately. Once again, Hamilton and Reagan did not have the same reaction as their parents.

"What's in your hand, Mad?" Reagan asked her twin.

Madison looked down at the remote and smiled broadly. "Oh! Right! Look, guys, I have a plan..."

* * *

Sinead Starling could see what resembled two snakes coiled around a sword through the lens.

_The Lucian crest!_ Sinead might have squealed, if she wasn't so busy trying to stay silent. She beckoned her brothers to follow her, and to be quiet about it. Sinead heard the girl gasp and whisper something to her brother.

"So this is the second clue?" the boy asked, loud enough for the Starling triplets to hear. "Or a clue to the clue?" Sinead snapped a picture of the Lucian crest with her cell phone.

"Either way," she said." Nice job."

The Cahill siblings turned towards Sinead and her brothers. Sinead frowned at their clothing. Amy was wearing plain old jeans and a green t-shirt. Her grandmother's jade necklace looked ridiculously out of place. Dan wore dark blue shorts and a white and yellow striped polo.

_The nerve of poor people!_ Sinead thought darkly.

"You lost us pretty well on the highway," she admitted. "Fortunately, there were only so many Franklin sites you could've been heading to. Thanks for the clue." She grabbed the black light reader Amy and Dan had used to find a secret message from Benjamin Franklin away from Dan.

"Now, listen close. You brats are going to _stay_ in the museum for a half hour. Give us a head start or we'll be forced to tie you up. If you leave early, I promise Ted and Ned will find out about it. And they won't be happy," Sinead threatened. Her brothers grinned; they would enjoy having to deal with the Cahill brats.

The Starling Triplets turned to leave. Amy stared at them with wide eyes.

"W-w-wait!" She blurted. Sinead raised a brow.

"Th-there's a man…" Amy began. Her self-consciousness stopped her from continuing.

"What man?" Sinead one of her hands on her hips, as the other was holding her cell phone. Dan intervened.

"He's been watching us!" He said. "Following us! It isn't safe to go out the main entrance."

Though Sinead was amused, she and her brother did a quick scan of the museum. There was some old man in a dark suit in the balcony above, but he didn't look threatening. In fact, he seemed too busy to be threatening; he was consumed in arguing with a girl at about Sinead's age, with dark brown hair. Sinead quickly turned to Dan. "You're concerned about our safety? That's very cute, Dan, but the thing is"- Sinead stepped forward and jabbed him in the stomach for every next word-"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU."

The Starling triplets chuckled, and then ran toward the main entrance. A deep rumbling shook the floor.

_BOOM!_

Ned and Ted screamed, but no scream was louder than Sinead's. A rock crashed down to her left. Another to her right. Soon, she and her brothers were surrounded by a pile of rocks. Sinead shrieked frantically, as she could not see her brothers. She could, however, hear their cries of pain.

"Where am I? I can't see anything!" Sinead heard Ted shout out.

"My head. . ." Ned mumbled, barely loud enough for Sinead to hear. She was barely aware that a sharp rock was shutting her stomach.

As her brother's cries of anguish began to fade, and as the sound of ambulance alarms blared, Sinead registered the pain.

A searing pain.

An unbelievably searing pain.

Sinead screamed. And screamed. And screams. Tears fell from her face all the way down to the cuts, making Sinead feel like alcohol had been poured over her.

Only about a minute after Sinead had started screaming, someone hurriedly removed rocks from around her. Blood stained Sinead's clothes and body.

"Oh, my God," the young paramedic whispered. He called to his fellow EMT's to help get the Starlings away from the rocks. The paramedic who found Sinead began to test her consciousness.

"Can you hear me? What is your name?" he asked her urgently.

She was barely capable of whispering. "We lost the lead," Sinead's body slumped, and she fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

"How do you feel, dear?" the nurse asked the patient as she walked into the room, clipboard in hand.

"Alright, I guess. Could you pass me my glass of water?" he replied.

"Of course. I'm coming in on your right," the nurse informed Ted Starling. The nurse handed him the glass carefully. When Ted felt the cool cup in his hand, he smiled.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome. Now, is there anything else I can get you?" the nurse's voice was patient.

"Ned and Sinead. Where are they?" Ted asked curiously.

"Sinead is having her operation. The stitches might take awhile, hun," the nurse explained. Ted took this information in quietly, biting his lip.

"And Ned?" Ted prompted. The nurse took a deep breath.

"Ned? Well, dear, he might be with the surgeons for awhile," she informed him.

"Surgeons?" Ted repeated the word as if it was foreign.

"Yes. Your brother Ned has been suffering severe headaches lately." She nurse turned to leave, not being able to bear the pained expression on Ted's face.

"Severe headaches?" he whimpered.

"Yes. It makes it hard for him to think," the nurse fumbled with her identification card nervously.

"He can't think?" Ted almost yelped.

"Well, of course he can. It just can be painful." The nurse gazed at her I.D. card. Boy, that picture was unflattering.

"He can't think straight." Ted whispered. The nurse was quiet.

"He can't think straight," his whisper transformed into a normal talking volume. The nurse looked worried.

"He can't think straight!" Ted yelled. The nurse had to intervene.

"Mr. Starling, it'll be fine! You'll be fine!" she tried to comfort Ted.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Ted slapped his hands over his ears.

"Mr. Starling! It is not so bad!" the nurse cried out.

"It is so bad!" Ted whimpered. The nurse gazed sadly at the heartbroken boy.

"If he can't think…," he mumbled. The nurse leaned forward, straining her ears to hear him. His next outburst quite nearly broke her eardrums.

"HE CAN'T BE AN EKAT!" Ted yelled at the top of his lungs. He threw his glass of water blindly at the wall.

The nurse ran out of the room, clutching her clipboard like a shield. _What the heck was an Ekat?_ Was mingled in her thought process as she whipped a pen out of her pocket. On her clipboard, under the 'Condition of Patient' section of her form on Ted Starling, she wrote:

_Hallucinations._

**(Thanks for reading, hope you liked! Please review! Remember: I love you! ;D -WIB)**_  
_


	13. Chapter 13 Tracked

**(Author's Note: Ahm... long time no update, no? I'm sorry! School's been really busy and I have fallen into a state of utmost laziness. Please, oh, please don't destroy me! Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues... sad face... :'( Please read and review, oh lovely ones!)**

Chapter 13

Tracked

"Fiske, we have a problem," William Mr. McIntyre beckoned to his partner to join him at his computer. Fiske Cahill soon joined the old lawyer as he peered at the computer screen. The screen was filled with red, green, yellow, blue, and white flashing dots, not unlike a certain Grace Cahill's map that had perished in the burning of her secret library. A clump of about six blue dots stood out on the apparent map of the world.

"What is it?" Fiske asked.

"They're different," William indicated to a yellow flashing dot among two other yellows on the computer, and then to a device with a much smaller screen in his hand.

"How is that possible?" Fiske asked, taking the device in his hand to get a closer look.

"Apparently, Ms. Starling no longer is the possessor of her cell phone," William muttered as he compared the two screens' yellow dots. Fiske was silent as he continued to squint at both screens.

"See here," William explained, prodding a specific yellow dot on the computer screen," Sinead Starling is here, at the hospital." He scrolled along the map until he reached three flashing white dots halfway across the screen. "This is Paris, France, where Sinead's cell phone resides now," he tapped importantly on the white dots.

"But," Fiske started," that's where…" he didn't finish his sentence as he pulled out a device of his own from within his black suit's pocket and began examining it.

Fiske frowned when he saw identical flashing black dots in his tracking device. "You're tracking the informant as well?" He inquired.

"Better safe than sorry," William muttered in response.

Fiske huffed and walked back over to the project he had been working on prior to when William had called him. He stared worriedly at the map as he updated its colored push-pins. He was sure to leave three yellow dots where all of the other colored dots had just been together: Boston, Massachusetts.

"How could you let him get away? Explain this to me, as clearly as you can, Ian," Isabel Kabra seethed as she towered over her panic-stricken son.

"Well, Mum, the Holts-"Ian began, his voice barely audible. His mother cut him off quickly.

"Holts? _Holts_? Don't tell me that you lost track of the book due to those barbaric excuses for Cahills!" Isabel shrieked.

"Well, actually-"Natalie began as softly as possible.

"No, Natalie, no! I don't want to hear it!" Isabel raged. Natalie slumped in her chair, something she normally wouldn't dare do; it was very bad for her posture.

"Natalie!" Her mother yelled sharply. Apparently, Natalie's slouch had not gone unnoticed. At their mother's exclamation, both Kabra children sat up straight, not wanting to make Isabel's anger rise.

"Why must everything go wrong?" Isabel questioned. "Why," she continued expressionlessly, "must I have such failures for children?"

That ending word from their mother did not help the siblings' postures, as they slid lower into their expensive seats.

Eisenhower Holt massaged his knuckle menacingly as he and his family gathered over the small book. Despite his sure-fire ability to know how to pack a punch, his fist still hurt from its connection with Alistair Oh's face.

"Wow, look at all this writing!" Reagan gushed, tracing the purple ink. "This is a treasure-trove of info!" she announced.

"Boo-yah, we hit the jackpot this time, dad! Go, Team Holt!" Madison hugged her father's immense form.

"Yeah, I guess we did, sweetie," he smiled gruffly as he plunked himself down on the motel room couch.

"Reagan, can you read any of this? The handwriting is so loopy," Madison asked her sister. "Like yours," she added smugly. Reagan punched her sister's shoulder affectionately before turning her attention to the _Poor Richard's Almanac_.

"Flow? No. Fellow? Negative. Fallen? Oh, wait, _follow_! The first word is follow!" Reagan announced as her family cheered.

"What's next, Reah?" Hamilton asked. Reagan squinted at the elegant writing again.

"Frank-something? Wait, there's more, it's just too loopy," Reagan sighed, defeated.

"Frankenstein?" Madison suggested.

"We're not gonna follow Frankenstein, Mad! Seriously!" Hamilton joked. Reagan stared dumbly at the cursive, stumped.

"Oh, hello, it's _Franklin_!" She smiled in spite of herself.

"Oh, yeah, I knew that! _Franklin_ museum, _Franklin_ site! I knew that!" Madison grinned.

"Okay, so, we've got 'Follow Franklin' so far. Is that it?" Eisenhower scratched his head in confusion.

"No, dear, I don't think the sentence is over yet," Mary-Todd commented as, glancing at the historical book from an upside-down perspective, due to the limited space.

"Let's see…" Reagan mumbled. "'Follow Franklin… first clue… Maze of Bones'?"

"A mace made out of bones? No, way! I want one!" Madison blurted, unable to contain herself.

"Not mace, _maze_," Hamilton corrected. Madison groaned in disappointment.

"No worries, hun. Winning this will buy you all the maces we want!" Eisenhower put in.

The whole family cheered, their dog, Arnold, included. Anyone who might've walked outside the motel room might have thought that a nuclear bomb had hit, and when it considered the Holts, a nuclear war could quite possibly be on their minds. They had a lot on their minds considering the hunt for the Clues, despite how small everyone thought their brains were.

In fact, someone had been walking outside the Holt's motel room, number 203. She did so very openly. Now, if one was to take to account the newest additions to the quest for the 39 Clues, that person might guess that this mysterious person was none other than Miss Aryavare Anne Berkelley. However, this black-clothed girl did not wear gloves at all. On the contrary, her arms and hands were shown very clearly, and the girl did most certainly not have a scowl on her face, which was customary for her cousin. This girl strolled along the motel block, whistling as she went. Not until she rounded the corner did she give her silence as she waited for a status report.

"They have it?" The girl's cousin cracked her knuckles expectantly.

"Bingo," Caller smiled cheerfully. Her cousin scowled.

"Why are you so happy? They have the book, not us!" She stressed.

Caller shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Please, Arya. Do you really think that they will keep possession of the book? Especially with you around?" she challenged.

Aryavare mulled this over in her mind. "Good point." Was her reply. Caller smiled again, which brought about another scowl from Aryavare.

"Where is Hayden?" Aryavare hissed.

Caller spun on her metallic heel, which Aryavare vaguely thought was entertaining to watch, and pointed toward room 203, where her brother had appeared. Aryavare let loose a low bird-call, acknowledging his presence. Hayden winked at the two girls, acknowledging theirs'.

Hayden knocked sharply on number 203, clearing his throat as he did so. Eisenhower Holt answered the door readily, his face as red as usual.

"Hello, sir. I'm looking for an Eisenhower Dolt," he said robotically.

"That's _H_olt to you, kid," Eisenhower cracked his knuckles.

"Oh." Hayden thought this piece of information over briefly. Eisenhower watched him with beady eyes.

"Too bad." Hayden sucker-punched Eisenhower's large stomach, causing the buff man to double over in surprise. Caller and Aryavare quickly joined Hayden with gas masks. The girls threw sleeping gas into the motel room before any other member of the Holt clan could react to Hayden's assault.

Soon, even Arnold the pit bull was knocked out due to the gas's drowsy effects. At that second, Team Eight entered the motel room, their thoughts set on Benjamin Franklin's _Poor Richard's Almanack_.

**(Author's Note: Hope you liked! Please review, my friends! I hope to update soon! ;D)**


	14. Chapter 14 Surviving

**(Author's Note: Hey again, guys. I'm thinking of trying to update every weekend or so... Yeah, please read and review!)**

Chapter Fourteen

Surviving

"Please?" Caller beseeched her cousin.

"No! Why on earth would we do that? All our hard work- for nothing!" Aryavare retorted.

"But we've already gotten all of the possible information from the book; we might as well pass it on," Caller argued. Hayden nodded in assent.

"You two…Urgh!" Aryavare clenched her gloved fist angrily.

"Caller has a point, Arya." Hayden stepped in.

"Oh, I'm sure," Aryavare snorted. "And who, geniuses, would we throw the book to, huh?"

The Royer children stared at her incredulously.

"You're kidding, right?" Hayden said. Aryavare's befuddled look made Caller smirk.

"Wow, even _I _know!" Caller grinned, in spite of herself. Aryavare was silent.

Caller and Hayden looked at each other and groaned simultaneously. "_Irina Spasky!_"

* * *

"Follow that Russian!"

Irina was half-sprinting down Rue de Rivoli, cold wind blowing harsh against her face. She wore a noticeable red shawl, and black heels that threatened to trip her. Irina felt that if the plan didn't work, she might kill herself. The bright shawl blew haphazardly, not helping the ex-KBG agent's attitude at all. They had to notice her. They _had _to.

Irina hurried down the flight of steps, attempting to do so while still trying to catch her breath. The train arrived at the Métro just as the children showed up. Irina jumped unto the train at once, with the Cahill siblings at her heels.

She changed trains three times until she finally arrived at the platform in Passy, France. Irina could sense them following her as she surged down the tree-lined street. She almost laughed aloud when she heard a Parisian curse behind her, no doubt at one of the children.

As Irina came closer to her destination, she made sure to steer clear of the hideous purple van. No need to get involved with _those_ folk.

As she neared the end of the block, she slipped into the base. She furiously punched in the security code, messing up several times in her nervousness, and stepped inside. Irina made sure to turn off the alarms for at least a few minutes. At least enough time for the Cahills to enter unnoticed. The Lucian crest above her head made her cower; she was, after all, going against all that her branch stood for.

* * *

"Kids! Quiet! Did you hear that?" Eisenhower bellowed unnecessarily, as the whole family was already attentive.

"Sounds like… yelling?" Hamilton murmured. The family sat, silent in the purple van. Then, CRASH! Through one of the tall glass windows of the Lucian base came a bust of Napoleon Bonaparte. Alarms blared and the Holt family whirled around just in time to see Amy and Dan Cahill sprint out of the building. The Holts tensed; the Cahills were running toward their van!

As quietly as possible, Madison turned on the van's surveillance microphone. She pressed record just as the Cahill siblings were readying to slip away from behind the van. Through the microphone's static, she could hear Dan mutter something of utmost importance: an address. The Cahill duo jogged away from the van.

Hamilton broke the silence by snatching the surveillance microphone from Madison. "What'd they say? What'd they say?" he shouted.

Madison refused to let her brother have the microphone. "Stop!" she yelled, jumping on his back.

"Why'd they say 'stop' for?" Hamilton yelled. Madison grabbed the closest thing she could from the purple ice cream van: a box of Fudgesicles. She promptly began to hit her brother over the head with it. Arnold, acknowledging the excitement, snapped at their heels. Mary-Todd tried to pull the dog away, not wanting him to hurt her children, as if her own children's fighting would not inflict injury itself.

As soon as Arnold was away from the two, and fighting with Reagan over a package of Eskimo Pies, Mary-Todd moved on to separating Hamilton and Madison. Eisenhower groaned, knowing that he would soon have to start yelling.

* * *

"So what you're saying is… you lead them into your own branch's base?" Alistair inquired, staring at his companion curiously.

"Yes. It sounds crazy, I know this." Irina combed through her blonde hair worriedly.

"Your own branch, Irina? I have to admit, that's not like you," Alistair noted.

"I don't know if I care anymore," she replied steadily. Alistair threw her a questioning look.

"At… at Grace's funeral, McIntyre told me that I wouldn't survive," Irina shivered.

"He can't have known that, Irina, dear! Besides, he said that to all of us during the reading of Grace's will," Alistair said.

"No. He was looking right at me when he said that, мой друг," Irina muttered, wistfully.

"I beg to differ, Irina. I saw him looking at young Daniel Cahill." Alistair examined his cane thoughtfully.

"No. He was looking behind him, at me," Irina croaked.

"And this is why you are helping them?" Alistair questioned.

"Yes," Irina mumbled.

"Because you believe you won't survive?" Alistair asked. Irina nodded.

"넌센스" Alistair shook his head, amused.

**(Author's Note: Alrighty, guys. Some translating is to be done here:**

**мой друг = my friend**

**넌센스 = nonsense**

**Thank you for reading, please review!)**


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